a firm, gentle purpose. I was sure she gave speeches like this on the regular, that it was all par for the course in her world. It wouldn't have surprised me to learn that she didn't actually care as much as she seemed to in that moment. Yet, it worked, and I allowed myself to feel comforted by the things she said.
“Thanks,” I replied, nodding.
“Yeah, of course.” She offered a cautious smile, then asked, “Do you live far from here?”
“Nah.”
“So, why don't you go home and get some sleep?” At the question, my eyes darted toward the bed and the form of my sleeping father. Andrea's hand squeezed my knee. I had forgotten it was even there. “I'm going to be here until seven this evening. I promise to take care of him until you get back.”
My gaze returned to hers and suddenly, I wasn't a thirty-four-year-old man but a little boy. I wanted to crawl into that bed and curl up beside my father, the way I used to when I thought thunder was the only thing to be scared of.
“You promise?”
She must've seen that little boy, the one who was struggling not to cry, because she smiled gently and nodded. “I promise.”
CHAPTER SIX
ANDREA
“Good morning, Mr. Marino!” I entered the room with a cheerful smile. “What can I get for you?”
The balding man on the bed was only seventy-five, but he looked about ninety. His failing health was not treating him kindly. From what I could tell, in my experience, it usually never does.
He flapped a hand, smacking the pillow behind his head. “You call these pillows? It’s like sleepin’ on a plastic bag.”
I fought back a laugh as I moved toward the head of the bed. “You know why that is?”
“I can’t imagine,” he muttered dryly.
“Because,” I smiled, gently fluffing the flimsy thing behind his head, “it is a plastic bag.”
“Humph.” His scowl deepened. “Some accommodations you’s got over here.”
The old are generally bitter. They hate that their time is so limited. They hate that they wasted so much of it, they hate that they took so much of it for granted, and they hate how there was never going to be enough, even if they’d lived to see their one-hundredth birthday. Vincent Marino was no exception. I could see the brewing despair in his eyes, the frantic need to hold on while also knowing his grip was slipping.
“Not exactly the Ritz,” I agreed. “But the food isn’t terrible.” I eyed the tray hovering over his bed.
“Pfft,” Vincent spat, waving a hand toward the scrambled eggs and toast. “This crap is barely passable as food. You want food? You go to my pizzeria. That’s food.”
The old woman standing in the corner of the room rolled her eyes in a silent display of intolerance. She shook her head, crossed her arms, and moved to stare out the window.
“Well, I have a couple minutes,” I said, pulling up a chair to the side of the bed. “Tell me about it.”
“Not much to tell.”
“Oh, come on!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air. “You can’t tell me you have this amazing pizza and then say there isn’t much to tell.”
Vincent sighed and rubbed his fingertips against the lines between his brows. “Ah, well …” He hesitated, dropping his hand down to the mattress, before continuing, “I opened her up years ago with my wife. We poured everything into the joint, all our money and time, and it wasn’t until just a few years ago that the place really took off.”
The old woman scoffed without a sound, shaking her head and rolling her eyes again, and I smiled gently.
“Better late than never though, right?”
“Yeah, well, if it hadn’t been for my son’s husband, it never would’ve happened at all.”
Son’s husband? The thought of Vinnie being taken sparked an aggravating hint of jealousy, while the idea of him not even batting for the same team left me with a shameful despair. But I knew Mr. Marino had two sons. Maybe the husband was that of Vinnie’s brother.
“Sounds like he came into your lives for a reason, then,” I said, keeping the conversation going without asking any questions, despite my itching curiosity.
“He’s a good kid,” Vincent answered astutely.
It seemed like a door had creaked open, beckoning me to just take a peek inside. I grasped at the opportunity and said, “I guess he’d have to be. All of your children seem really nice.”
Vincent’s chest puffed with just a tinge of pride. “We’ve had